Second Meeting
by Other Preference
Summary: Kiku Honda meet Alfred Jones when he was young; the American boy aims to be a hero when he grows up, for most importantly, his dad. When a tradgedy happens, will Kiku ever see his best friend again?


**I'll go ahead and add an authors note. So sorry, so many errors... this is my first time working with FF, you see. Please enjoy.**

* * *

He took another silent bite, his straight white teeth creating a second missing curve into the soft peanut butter and jelly sandwich Alfred's mother had prepared for them. Kiku Honda, the petite thing he was, had only requested half of one while his friend, perched next to him on an identical stool, devoured the other half as well as his own complete sandwich.

He enjoyed the food, unique to him. Always Asian cuisine – rice for breakfast, rice for lunch, rice and meat for dinner. Of course, he did not mind. Though, a young child in a different place, he almost felt left out by bringing his food to another continent. With all of the ice cream, fast food, and candy right in public.

The two eleven year olds were alone now in the sunshine filled kitchen, Mrs. Jones off to work after a peck of a kiss to Alfred's head and a wave to Kiku. Mr. Jones was on leave, currently serving duty in Afghanistan. Alfred regarded him as the strongest, bravest hero. Kiku knew for sure, after one day in writing, they were asked to write of their idols and present supporting facts.

_ "Dad doesn't shoot. In fighting, you have guns, that you're supposed to fire, right? He sees people, and he doesn't. He saves them, and that's what a hero does. They also make others happy, and each time he sees me, Dad lifts me up with a great smile and we go get ice cream."_

It was a rather repetitive essay, filled with grammatical errors. However, both the teacher and Kiku understood. So, when Alfred grew up, he wanted to be just like his father. The best hero. He had confided to Kiku;

_ "I'll be dad's hero, then. Just you watch, Keeks."_

The Asian boy felt as though he were the audience, watching Alfred work up to his goal on the sidelines. He was there, and his friend knew he was, yet was not taking role in the actual events.

Kiku had moved from China with his older brother, Yao, three years back. Of Japanese descent, he was alienated by the sea of people who were different from him. When he had asked his brother why a little boy had orange hair, he laughed.

"_Aiyah, Kiku-di, you don't just say people have orange hair! Here it's called red."_

_ "But it's not red…"_

_ "That's why it's funny."_ His brother whispered, a shine in his eyes.

The key of bullying was repetition, and Kiku never knew his peers could be so plain mean. Scribbling on his near perfect homework, throwing things at him, stealing his bag. Added to that: name calling, flicking, once a few boys had even cornered him on the playground. Yao had to get involved with the school.

Two years into living in America, a boy transferred to his class. Alfred Jones. He was like a ray of sunshine, always happy and grinning. He immediately was drawn to Kiku, exclaiming he was a pretty girl. Kiku could tell his cheeks lit up, and stuttering, corrected his gender for Alfred. The mistake was laughed off, and soon, they spoke merrily with each other every day. Kiku helped Alfred with work, Alfred helped Kiku deal with the bullies. Soon, they were no more.

Kiku and Alfred were best friends.

Suddenly, Alfred set down the last crust of the three sandwich halves, (crusts aren't for heroes, you know) reaching for the tall glass of lemonade. Gulping several sips down, he turned to Kiku, having to look down at the boy, with his same gleaming smile.

"So, Keeks. I've been thinking, how about you start calling me Mr. America? It would be super cool!"

Kiku blinked, setting his own food down, dabbing his lips with a napkin before curiously looking up. "… I would be fine with that, Alfred-san, but if I may ask… why?"

" 'Cuz captain's already taken!" They both laughed, Alfred's coming out in short loud 'ha's, Kiku's a soft giggle covered by a fist. "Seriously. Also, that's what you're sane thing means, right?"

"Eto… 'san,' you mean?" He questioned with a tilt of his head, trying not to be too forceful with his correction.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, that means Mister, right? So Mr. America!" He exclaimed brightly, throwing his hands up at the newfound idea.

"Then… of course. Mr. America."

Once more, they both laughed, Kiku a bit more bravely, his cheeks pink.

* * *

In step with each other, both Kiku and Alfred walked down a sidewalk of New York. Boisterous, bright, blinding New York. Nine years later, they both attended an art college in the large city, having applied at the same time. Yao had expected Kiku to get in, but was pleased nonetheless when the letter to accept him arrived in the mail. Alfred's mother, however, had bounced up and down with the sheer joy, grabbing her son in an embrace. He had got in with his friend's help, he admitted.

Alfred's father had come home a total of twice, and from what Alfred told Kiku, (he was maturing) worried the young man. Mr. Jones had looked increasingly older each visit, and bragged; "No one's died by my hands yet." When repeating the quote to Kiku, Alfred's smile couldn't hide the nervousness clouding his sky reflecting eyes.

They came to where they were supposed to turn and cross the road, Kiku's mind on many things. What to get Alfred on his special day, July the Fourth, as well as how to complete his graphic assignment. Alfred's chattering went by unheard, though the blonde knew Kiku didn't mind.

Almost completely across, Alfred's volume increased. Several times. Blinking, Kiku only resurfaced soon enough to feel himself be violently shoved, by a strength only Alfred could deliver, to the perpendicular sidewalk. His smooth cheek scrapped into the rough cement, ripping and bringing blood to the surface, as he felt an intense throb vibrate through the shoulder he had fallen on.

That didn't scare him, however. What did was the intimidatingly loud thud, followed by several sickening snaps. Gasps of people passing by and around the area invaded Kiku's ears. A sense of foreboding paining his chest, he forced himself up, glancing over his shoulder.

He was immediately met with Alfred's bright red, broken body. He had been shouting Kiku's name. Tears rushed to the almond eyes as Kiku forced himself to a standing position, stumbling over to his best friend's slowly dying body. Collapsing to his knees next to the twisted mass, the tears suddenly burst out, in a rush to leave and trail down his cheeks.

Why was Alfred smiling? He was grinning, eyes unfocused and glasses askew to the side. However, the increasingly dull blue orbs found Kiku, who felt a shock send to his very heart practically.

"Pretty heroic… huh, Keeks…?" Alfred forced out in a dead rasp, the Asian straining to hear. The blood matted head slowly fell limp to the side, the smile stuck on his face as the life left Alfred Jones's body.

* * *

Kiku continued school. He attended the funeral. The tears on that day were the only ones to show up though the entire expanse of his life up until now, from that day on the road. It had been a six wheeler, and Kiku blamed himself. He had not been aware.

He graduated with near perfect grades, leaving school and his proud brother to have his own apartment and to become a graphic organizer. It was a stressful job, because he made it one. He earned a decent pay, but it was a struggle to pay rent and afford food at the same time.

It was no longer a happy life. He had no more connections to the Jones family, and recently, his brother had been associating more and more with a large man Kiku just didn't get good vibes from. He himself tending to be alone, only interacting with people at work and clerks at shops. That, he avoided to the best of his ability.

One late night in the silent apartment, work finished, Kiku was in bed, debating the costs of a cat. He always liked the animals, petting them at each opportunity. It was one time people really saw him, a bit more open. The prices made him nearly feel sick however, and as the hours struck into the next morning, he felt his eyes drifting shut. From the entire day of work, nervous due dates and lack of food, he was exhausted.

* * *

America, hands deep in his jean pockets, happily strolled up the pretty (the only word he could think of) path to Japan's home. The… so and so flowers were in bloom, the scent was lovely, and the breeze was just right. He laughed, just because. Arriving to the steps and wooden porch, he slipped his shoes up, heavily stepping up the wooden slaps. Knowing the paper door (that was kinda stupid, had Japan not heard of burglaries?) was fragile, he refrained from knocking, calling out.

"YO, KIKU~!"

There was no reply however, for several moments, and he scowled. He knew the man wasn't out, he had called before… And wouldn't it be odd for such a work-driven man to be asleep at this time? Snickering, wondering if he could find the cute man asleep, he slid open the rice door and stepped inside.

Exploring, not able to mask his giggles, the largely built American finally made his way to the older nation's bedroom. Sliding open the identical door, he peeked in, but frowned. Kiku was already sitting up and wiping his eyes, but as America watched, the smaller man stiffened. Slowly, he removed the tiny fists from his eyes, glancing around heavily confused.

Kiku took in each oriental design, his yukata that he had never put on, and the room he had never fallen asleep in. He felt at home, though, he knew he had most likely never been here. He was frightened, wondering if he had been taken somewhere in his sleep, or if he had made it here of his own accord.

Everything froze. He noticed and locked on to the vivid blue iris, sneaking a peek between a crack of the shoji screens. He bit his lip, his heart skipping a beat, as he leaned forward and whispered.

"Mister… America…"

America laughed loudly, shoving the screen open the rest of the way, almost stomping in. He was clad in something Kiku had never seen him in before; a leather, brown fleece collared jacket. Otherwise, the jeans and t-shirt were normal. Normal enough to be worn by a deadman. Alfred threw his arms up with a grin, so similar.

"Ya caught me, Keeks! Damn dude, whatchya' doin' in bed so late?" Hands replaced to his hips, laugh brave.

Kiku couldn't help but feel his gaze return to the intense eyes each time they tried to trail down Alfred's body. It was… bigger, somehow… The unfamiliar sting came to his eyes, dewing up the brown irises. He brought a quivering hand to cover his mouth.

This worried America, and he stepped forward, accentuated by a nervous chuckle. "Ah, Keeks? Kiku? You okay?"

The confused Japanese slowly nodded, before suddenly shooting forward.

He outright hugged America, shoulders shaking as he pressed his face into the broad shoulder, crying once more.

Alfred's cheeks burned crimson as he awkwardly held the delicate man, eyes wide in shock, smile wavering.

Well, this was new.

Like, really.


End file.
